


darling, dearest, dead

by dreadfulbeauties



Category: The Red Shoes (1948)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Kissing, Missing Scene, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:27:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26087173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreadfulbeauties/pseuds/dreadfulbeauties
Summary: Many years later, Boris reflects on what never was.
Relationships: Boris Lermontov/Victoria Page
Kudos: 6





	darling, dearest, dead

How many years has it been since that bright, sunny day in 1948? Where autumn’s chill wrapped the whole of the city in its clutches, yet the sky still shone in such bold blue? Boris cannot remember. Sometimes if he tries hard enough he can spot Victoria’s presence lingering — an unwilling Eurydice, who will slip away the moment he thinks about her too much. He knows what he has done: It weighs back-breakingly so on his mind day after day.

There is one moment with Miss Victoria Page that Boris remembers. Before Julian, before she started slipping away and the essence of dance was lost on her because her mind was clouded with thoughts of something else. 

He’d thought Victoria Page would be gentle at kissing, lips as delicate and ghost-like as an angel’s feathered wings. She was gentle, he remembers, the presence of her hands resting upon his shoulders a presence he could hardly feel. But there was fire, there, too: Warmth and eagerness, an eagerness for that essence of dance she sought for so long.

He cannot recall the specific shade of blue her eyes were, nor how the knuckles on her hand creased up when she curled her fingers. But he remembers somethhing like fire, a moth drawn close to that enticingly flickering flame. That was Victoria, wings aflutter. 

“Thank you, Mr. Lermontov. I’ll be sure to do my best for tonight’s performance,” is what she had said.

And then his Eurydice had gone off to take center stage, to paint a story with those bright red slippers of hers. There is no ghost that follows him around at home, nor one that takes up residence at the ballet theater. There is a ghost in his mind.

But unlike Orpheus, Boris won’t look back.

**Author's Note:**

> ...well, i made myself sad writing this (mainly on poor vicky's behalf, though i do have sympathy for boris, too). i wanna write something more fluffy with julian and vicky later :]
> 
> i do so love exploring the dynamic between boris and victoria - there have been writers who've done it before me and done it so beautifully, so i wanted to try my hand at this. i really don't have a lot to say about this one. i think boris did love her, it's just that his love for her was expressed in a very different way that ultimately wasn't something that would work for victoria. 
> 
> thank you for reading! comments are appreciated, take care of yourselves and stay safe <3


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